


The Grass Isn't Always Greener in the Sunlight

by Ralkana



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Reality, F/M, Magic, One of My Favorites, Reconciliation, Relationship(s), Shanshu Prophecy, Soul Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-06-14
Updated: 2003-06-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 05:39:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/pseuds/Ralkana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not getting what he thought he wanted might just lead Angel to what he needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Grass Isn't Always Greener in the Sunlight

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer ~ I don't own them; Joss and Mutant Enemy and all the various other Powers That Be do. If I owned them, I think they'd have been much, much happier.
> 
> Note ~ HUGE thanks go to Maquis Leader for all her help, and for the motivation she gave me to keep going with this fic; you can put the bullwhip away now, ML.
> 
> Timeline ~ Takes place immediately following _Chosen_ , and diverges from canon there. Written as a response to a whole bunch of speculation about AtS season five.

 

Angel rushed around the lobby of the Hyperion, checking things off a hastily made list. He was not hurrying nearly as much as he had been, though, because he could feel her. She was getting closer. And that meant she was alive. _Thank God_. He was alone, having sent Lorne, Wes, Fred, and Gunn out to perform various tasks in setting up what seemed to be a no-longer-necessary second front against the First Evil.

In a way, he'd been glad for the possible arrival of a big bad. It kept his mind off Connor. Which was good, because he knew that if he sat down and thought about it, he'd go insane. He busied himself with chores that he knew with increasing certainty were useless, and the feeling of her nearness grew stronger. After a while, his spine began to tingle, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He was feeling twitchy, and he had to fight to stop a growl from erupting from his throat. It was a struggle to keep from shifting into game face. _What the hell is going on?_

She burst into his home, bloody and looking exhausted, but alive, and his knees went weak at the sight. Pouring in after her were Faith and the Scoobies and a bunch of teenage girls who all snapped their heads in his direction. The twitchy, anxious sensation overwhelmed him, and he leaned against the counter, unsure if he was doing so to keep his balance or to keep from bolting.

"They're all Slayers," he said in awe, and she grinned.

"Yep. Making you wig?"

"Just a little. The First Evil?"

Her grin faded a little. "Taken care of." Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed one of the new Slayers slowly -- and she probably thought nonchalantly -- reaching for a stake. "Hey!" she said loudly, and the girl froze. "No pointy wooden things near him, okay? It makes him nervous."

She saw the confusion on their faces. "This is Angel. He has his soul, guys."

"Do we know any _bad_ vamps?" Kennedy asked Willow, and she grinned.

"No, see, 'cause the bad ones are dust," she said just as another girl said, "Oh, so he's like Spike was."

Angel growled, making most of the girls jump. "I am _not_ like Spike." Then the words she'd said caught up with him. "Was?" he gently asked Buffy. She stared at the ground.

"The amulet did its job," was all she would say. Then she squared her shoulders. "So, um, since Sunnydale is currently a very large crater, we have no place to stay. And... there seems to be a lot of empty rooms here in your humble little home... I hate to ask, Angel..."

"You don't have to ask, and you know that, Buffy. You're welcome here." He raised his voice. "You're all welcome to stay here. For as long as you like. But you've probably already realized that this is an... unusual home. I frequently have guests who are not of the human persuasion. Please do not slay them on sight. Especially Lorne! He's a good friend of mine; he's an anagogic demon. Green skin with red horns, and he wears clothes that should be equipped with a mute button. That doesn't mean it's open season on anything else, though. A good rule of thumb is if you don't see me reaching for a sword, they're probably good guys."

"That's a very sexist expression," Willow told him with a frown.

"What?"

"Rule of thumb. It comes from the law that men were allowed to beat their women with anything smaller than the diameter of their thumb."

When they all just stared at her, she shrugged. "Anyway," Buffy said, shaking her head, "Um, we've got wounded. On the bus."

"I'd help, but..." Angel gestured to the bright, sunny courtyard.

"First aid kits?"

"I'll see what I can get together."

Buffy began marshalling her troops, calling out orders, and the girls snapped into action without any questions. Angel stopped to watch for a moment, smiling as he headed back into the office to see what kind of supplies he could find.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Dammit, Rona, get your own plate and stop stealing off of mine!"

"Hello! You're the one who took the last of my cinnamon twists yesterday!"

"Yeah, and all of you ate the rest of the Cheetos."

"Can't we change the station? This song sucks."

"It's better than the crap _you_ listen to!"

The strident voices drifted up to him through the hotel, and Angel growled and shoved the pillow over his head, knowing it wouldn't do a damn bit of good. Five days had passed since he'd gained around thirty new houseguests, most of them teenage girls hopped up on the Slayer power rushing through them. If something didn't change soon, there was going to be homicide. And he'd be the likely culprit.

There was a quiet knock on his door. He threw back the blanket and marched across the room to yank it open. Buffy stood there, hand raised to knock again, and her mouth opened in surprise when she took in his appearance. Her eyes lingered on his bare chest, a fact he gladly noted and filed away.

"I'm sorry. You were asleep," she said, slightly flustered.

"Not likely. Come in," he muttered, grabbing his shirt from where he'd thrown it over a chair. He slipped it on, dropping into the chair. "What's up?"

"They are a little loud, aren't they?" she said with a grin, perching on the end of his bed.

"You lived like this for how long?"

"They were a bit quieter when they were terrified out of their minds. Not much though," she added. Angel just stared at her with a slight scowl still on his handsome face. "You okay?"

"Fine. Sorry. A little tired."

She looked down, and her cheeks flushed. "I'm sorry, Angel, for just descending on you like this. We really had nowhere else to go, and -- "

"Buffy, it's okay, really. It's just going to take some time to get used to. Besides, I don't think they're all going to stay here forever. Now, you didn't come in here for me to make you feel bad about being here. What's going on?"

"Actually, that's why I came to see you," she said, and a puzzled look crossed his face. "The not-staying-here-forever thing, not the making-me-feel-bad thing. Um, Giles is going to England tomorrow, and he's taking Willow with him, and a few of the Poten -- uh, the new Slayers. Some of the others have just slipped away at night. A few of them are thinking of staying, I know, and they're getting antsy. A couple of them have asked me if they can go patrolling with you and Wes and Gunn."

Angel frowned. "I, uh, I'm not so sure. They haven't really been trained, and I'm not sure I like the idea of wandering around at night with a Slayer who doesn't know me. Things get confusing in the heat of battle."

She grinned. "Yeah, it's hard to say 'oops, sorry' to a settling pile of dust. Will you talk to them?"

"I'll think about it," he said after a moment. Buffy nodded and moved to get up, and he said, "And you? What are your plans?"

Shrugging, she stood up. "I don't really know."

"You're not going with Giles and Willow?"

"No," she said, a little too sharply, and then she sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Before... before everything went down, they threw me out, Angel."

"What?"

"They threw me out. Everyone. Decided Faith was a better leader than I am and threw me out of my own house. She promptly led them into a trap and nearly got them all killed. I came along and rescued them, and all of a sudden, everyone was happy to see me again."

He could see how angry she was, how much her friends' betrayal had hurt her, and he was tempted to go find each and every one of them -- they were all conveniently staying in _his_ home, taking advantage of _his_ good will -- and hurt them for hurting her. He wanted so desperately to take her in his arms and soothe the hurt away, but he knew she wouldn't allow it.

"I'm sorry, Buffy," he said softly, knowing it wasn't anywhere near enough. "On the plus side, it was probably easier than living with this," he added, as the voices downstairs began giggling hysterically. She grinned at him, doing her best to hide her feelings.

"That's true. Anyway, going with them is not high on my list of fun things to do. But... staying here... I don't know..." She looked away from him. "Maybe I'll travel. Go see New York. Take Dawn to Disneyworld."

His heart ached at the thought of her leaving again, but he forced a smile. "That sounds like a good -- "

His words died in his throat at the shriek that came from downstairs. It was not a shriek of laughter. It was a sound of terror, and it had both Buffy and Angel out the door and racing down the stairs even before the babble of voices rose again.

"What the hell is that?"

"Where'd it come from?"

"It's a guy!"

"Oh my God, he's naked."

"Don't go out there!"

"He fell pretty hard."

"Yeah, but from where?"

"That's Spike!"

The last exclamation brought both Buffy and Angel up short to see the group of girls crowded around the door to the garden.

"It's sunny out there, how come he's not dust?"

"Is he... it looks like he's breathing?"

"Yeah, but he does that."

"When he's unconscious?"

And suddenly, Angel knew. He sank down onto the couch in the lobby just as Wes and Lorne came pounding down the stairs.

"What's all the fuss about, sugar?" Lorne asked Buffy, who didn't answer, still staring at the girls and the door. Wesley glanced concernedly at Angel.

"Angel, what's happening?"

The group of Slayers turned around.

"Spike's out there!" Rona said, and Buffy moved suddenly, pushing through them to get to the door. She came back with Spike in a fireman's carry, and as she moved closer to the sofa, Angel got up and moved hurriedly away. She set Spike down on the couch, and Lorne shrugged out of his suit coat and laid it over him. At this distance, it was impossible for Angel not to tell what had happened to Spike.

"He's human," he said numbly. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Wesley's head jerk up, but the vampire avoided his gaze.

"How?" Buffy breathed. Just then, Spike's chest heaved, and he moaned as he started coming around. The flurry of activity around him increased, and Angel backed away even further, watching from the sidelines. When it became obvious that he truly wasn't necessary at the moment, he slipped away completely, silently climbing the stairs back to his suite.

Sleep would have finally been possible in the hush that descended upon the hotel, but Angel knew there would be no rest for him. For quite a while.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He didn't answer the knock on the door that came about an hour and a half later, though he knew that he should. When the door opened a crack and the visitors peeked in, Angel sighed.

"Why knock if you're just going to come in anyway?"

Wesley and Buffy slipped in, closing the door behind them. They glanced at each other, neither wanting to be the first to speak. The silence stretched on until Angel rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"Is he okay?"

Buffy stepped away from Wesley, examining the things on Angel's shelves, though she'd seen everything before. She'd come in with Wesley, but she knew Angel needed to speak to his friend first, to have the one who'd given him hope a few years before be the one to take that hope away.

Wesley rubbed the stubble on his chin. "He seems to be perfectly healthy. A perfectly healthy, young, human, male."

Angel closed his eyes. He heard Wesley take a deep breath, and he said, harshly, "Don't."

"Angel..."

"It was never mine, Wesley. It was just a prophecy, and you of all people know how misleading those can be."

Wesley looked at him quizzically, and Angel felt his stomach sink even further. _Not in this timeline he doesn't._ "I mean," he continued, blinking away the tears that came to him at the thought of Connor, "Look how long it took you to figure out what it meant. So it was meant for Spike. Not for me."

Wes was silent, and Angel avoided his eyes, uncomfortable in his presence, though he knew he could hold no grudge against _this_ Wesley. _This_ Wesley had never kept Sahjahn's doctored prophecy secret from him, had never kidnapped his son, had never handed Connor over to his mortal enemy. And yet, every time he looked at this Wesley, he saw the dark portal to Quartoth closing behind his son.

Wesley must have noticed Angel's glare, because he shifted uncomfortably. "I truly am sorry, Angel -- "

"It isn't your fault, Wes. It isn't anyone's fault. It's just the way things are. Are you going to tell Spike?"

Wesley looked away, glancing guiltily at Buffy. "I already have. He deserves to know why he's here."

"Why _is_ he here?" Angel growled, and Wesley looked startled at the vehemence in his tone. "He didn't just... _become_ human, Wes. He was dead. Dust. And it brought him back. Why? I thought this was supposed to happen after he fulfilled his destiny. Clearly, his destiny was to die. Why is he here?"

"We don't know, Angel. There isn't any clear indication of why Spike's been brought back -- "

"I don't care why he's been brought back. I want to know why he's _here_. In my home!"

His eyes caught Buffy's, and he saw that she was frowning at him. He looked away, unable to bear the thought that she was upset at him for being rude about Spike. He couldn't handle that right now.

Wes looked intrigued, if discomfited, by Angel's outburst. "An excellent question. It's possible that the reason he's returned may be linked to you -- "

Angel groaned. "Great. So Spike exists to fuck with my life. Well that's exciting and new. I guess if we're meant to learn why he's here, it will happen eventually." He sighed. "Thanks, Wes."

It was clearly a dismissal, and the other man took it as such. He nodded at Buffy and exited the room, and the tension level rose by several notches.

"He's not here to fuck with your life, Angel," she said quietly after a few very tense moments.

"No? Why is he here, then? Tell me."

She sighed. "I don't know. He doesn't know either. He's way confused, but he was also really exhausted. He fell asleep right in the middle of a sentence. Whatever brought him back, it really took a lot out of him."

Angel laughed harshly. "That's one way to put it."

Buffy tried to grin, but she wasn't very successful. They stared at each other, neither of them really having any idea what to say.

"Angel," she asked suddenly, "Why didn't you tell me?"

He stared at her, puzzled.

"About... shanshu. This prophecy. Wesley mentioned to Spike that you've all known about it for several years now, so I was just wondering... why I never got, I dunno, a phone call or something."

Angel sighed wearily, suddenly feeling every one of the long years he'd experienced. "Does it matter?" he asked in a quiet voice, and she gave him a determined stare, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Yeah, kinda. Since you didn't know Spike had a soul, it's pretty damn clear what you thought it meant, Angel."

His anger exploded from him. "I don't understand what you want from me, Buffy. Do you think I didn't tell you because I didn't care? Because I didn't want you to know? I _ached_ to tell you, I reached for the phone so many times. In the end, I decided it was something I couldn't burden you with. And it's a good thing I didn't, huh? Since it wasn't mine to tell!"

Her anger fled in the face of his obvious pain. Obvious to her, at least. Anyone else would have been hard pressed to see anything other than anger. "Oh, God, Angel. I'm sorry. I have no right to be angry. You... you must be... God, I don't even know what word I could use..."

Angel shrugged. "I was idiotic enough to believe that a _good_ prophecy could actually be alluding to me."

"No, no, Angel, you weren't. A vampire with a soul... becoming human, it -- "

"Can we not talk about this?"

Buffy shut up, giving him an apologetic nod as she leaned against the door. After a moment, she took a deep breath and moved on to her other reason for coming in here. "He... he doesn't have anywhere to go, Angel."

He threw his hands up in the air. "What am I, the fucking pound now? All strays welcome!"

Buffy's jaw dropped at his harsh words, and she turned away before he could see the tears in her eyes. Angel knew her too well; he knew what she was doing, and he sighed.

"I'm sorry."

"I'll, um... I'm gonna go tell everyone to start packing up."

"Buffy, no. You don't have to -- I'm sorry I blew up like that. I've been antsy; I'm not used to so many people here -- especially Slayers, and then with Spike... I just need some time to come to terms with everything."

She turned back. "Angel, that's the last thing you need."

"What?" He gaped at her.

"You'll sit up here for an hour, and then before you know it, it'll be a week, and Angel -- "

"Well, you know, I've had a rough day. I just found out that everything I've tried to keep myself from dreaming about for three years now belongs to Spike. Spike! So forgive me if I'm not at my perkiest."

Buffy sighed. "I know this isn't easy for you, Angel, and I don't expect you to be hugging Spike and congratulating him. I just hate to see you like this... up here all by yourself, brooding."

"So don't watch. I didn't ask for an audience. Go watch Spike sleep; I'm sure it's more entertaining." His voice was harsh and angry, but he couldn't hide the hurt and the jealousy, not from her.

"Dammit, Angel, this isn't about me and Spike, and it isn't about me and you. All of us -- me, Spike, those girls down there... we all have brand new, scary-as-hell lives, and from the muttering I've heard from your gang, it isn't exactly business as usual around here, either. Maybe we can all, I don't know, figure out what comes next together? None of us should be doing this alone."

He finally looked at her, and his eyes were dark, infinite, unreadable depths. "That's where you're wrong, Buffy. You and your friends, the new Slayers, Spike, hell, even my crew -- all of you can gather 'round in the sunny courtyard and discuss what comes next, make plans, outline your futures. All I can do is sit here in the fucking dark. Forever."

"Angel..."

"Just go. Please, Buffy, for tonight, just go."

And she did.

Angel sat and listened as the noise slowly grew to the same level it had been at that morning. The new Slayers had seen too much freakishness in the previous few weeks to let Spike's return keep them quiet for long. Then, he sat and listened as the noise level gradually decreased until the hotel was once again still and quiet.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The next morning, the hallways creaked and the stairs groaned as they all began to gather in the lobby once more, and Angel sighed and stretched as he stood from the chair he'd spent the night sitting in. He showered and dressed and headed downstairs, noting with dismay that everyone hushed as he came into view. He saw the pitying glances and wondered who'd been unable to keep their mouth shut. His gaze fell on Fred and Willow and Kennedy, all sitting together. The first two smiled guiltily, and the latter stared defiantly, and he didn't have to wonder anymore. He glanced around, taking in a view of the room, trying to figure out who was there, and who was missing.

Giles and Wes were in his office drinking tea and conferring about some demon, though they'd left the door open. Gunn and Xander were going through the weapons, taking stock, surrounded by a group of curious Slayers -- and Andrew. Buffy glanced up from where she was talking with Dawn and Spike, and she quickly looked away. Faith and Robin were missing, but he knew they were upstairs. It looked like mostly everyone was here, plowing through the enormous boxes of donuts that lay decimated on the reception desk.

"Morning," he said as he eased himself up onto the reception desk next to the donuts, and there was a murmur of responses. Those who hadn't been staring turned to look at him, and Giles and Wesley came out of the office wearing identical expressions of curiosity.

"I know some of you are leaving today," he said, nodding toward Giles, "And I also know some of the rest of you aren't sure what comes next. I stand by what I said before; you're welcome to stay here, though we'll have to set up some ground rules.

"That'll all come later, but the first rule is this -- everyone who stays here is going to have to help out. And I don't mean washing the windows or mopping the floors. We're in business here -- the same business Buffy taught you in Sunnydale. We fight the bad guys. The bad guys everyone else hides from, the bad guys no one else believes in. We've recently acquired some new resources," he said with a sidelong glance at Wes, who looked amused at his turn of phrase. "We're not sure how they fit in yet, but I'll pretty much guarantee that fighting the bad guys is going to happen the same way it's always happened. In the dark, hand to hand, with everyone getting dirty and bloody and occasionally beaten. It's a rough way of life, and the reward," he nearly stumbled over the word and hoped it wasn't noticeable, "is simple. Fewer bad guys."

Most of the girls were staring at him with wide eyes, and he shrugged. "It's rough, but it's important. If you want to help out, you're welcome here. If you don't, and you have some place to go but no way to get there, we'll find a way to get you there. If you don't, and you don't think you have any place to go, we'll figure something out."

Before they could react, he slid down off the desk and brushed past Giles and Wes to get to his office, closing the door behind him.

Spike barged in a few moments later, standing over Angel's desk until he finally sighed and looked up from the book he was reading.

"Yes?"

"That warm and fuzzy invitation to stay... was it an open one?"

"Not open to everyone, but to those in the room, yes."

"So..."

"You can stay, Spike, but I really don't know if this is the right place for you."

"I didn't ask for this, you know."

Angel raised his eyebrow. "Is that an attempt to make me feel better? Because it's misguided as hell and I suggest you stop right there."

"Don't have any superpowers... won't be much use in a fight."

"Neither do Xander or Andrew. Or Gunn and Fred. Or even Giles and Wesley. 'Superpowers' as you call them, aren't what's important. You need to figure out your... life, and if you decide later on that you'll be better off far away from here, well, you damn sure won't get an argument from me."

"She doesn't -- " He stopped abruptly when Angel turned golden, rage-filled eyes on him.

"Let's get one thing straight, boy. You can stay here. If you're useful. But don't _ever_ try to discuss Buffy with me. Now, excuse me. I'm busy."

He reached for his book, knocking his sketchbook off the desk. Spike leaned down and picked it up, glancing at the half-finished sketch that filled the page. It was a boy on the verge of manhood, with dark hair and light eyes. He was holding a stake, and he looked angry.

"Who's the kid?"

Angel snatched the book away, but Spike noticed how gentle he was as he smoothed the crinkled page. "Nobody you'd know," he muttered.

The door opened, and Willow stuck her head in. "Um... don't mean to interrupt, but I just thought I'd let you know Giles and I and some of the girls are leaving now."

Angel hid the sketchbook away in one of the drawers, and -- putting Spike out of his mind -- rose to say good-bye to some of his houseguests.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The jasmine was blooming.

That was what Angel noticed first when he stepped out into the Hyperion's courtyard. In the warm summer night, the soft scent of the blossoms perfumed the air. The fragrance and the memories hit him hard, and he turned to go back inside, but he stopped when confronted by the sight of the full lobby.

It had been two weeks since Willow and Giles had taken the first wave of Slayers from the hotel; Andrew had somehow managed to get them to take him along, against most of their wishes. In the intervening time, Xander had gone to visit family out of state, and Faith had gone with Robin to "help him get well" at the house of the man who'd raised him -- his mother's Watcher. Many of the girls had gone home; there were still several that were unsure of what they wanted to do with their futures, but for the most part, those who had stayed were planning to stay and become a part of the AI team. Eight or nine of them had come to him to announce definite plans to stay, and Buffy and Wesley were running them through some training in the lobby.

Angel was tired of being "the vamp" and he had come outside to get away from being roped into any more attack scenarios. Not to mention avoiding Spike's smug smirk. _He's the one that should be relearning how to fight_ , he thought sullenly.

"Hey, Angel."

"Hey, Fred."

"Whatcha doin' out here?"

"Taking a break. I was afraid if I heard 'Okay, rush him!' one more time, I'd have to knock them all out for my own safety."

Fred giggled. "They are a little gung-ho about the training, aren't they?"

"Just a _little_ enthusiastic." He rubbed at a sore muscle in his shoulder.

She moved down the steps and sat beside him. The silence stretched out, which suited him fine; he was never sure when talking to Wes, Fred, Gunn, and Lorne these days, when one of his memories would conflict with one of theirs.

"The moon sure is pretty when it's full, ain't it? Looks so close."

Angel glanced up. "Yeah," he said, taking time to appreciate the sight. "It is pretty." He thought for a moment, as he sometimes did when the moon was full, about Oz, wondering what had become of the quiet werewolf. He smiled as he remembered Buffy teasing him sometime during her senior year, saying that he and Oz could probably manage to talk for hours using fewer words than she and Willow used in fifteen minutes.

"You okay, Angel?"

"I'm fine, Fred. Little sore, little tired. It's hard getting used to so many people here all the time."

"Don't I know it."

He shared a smile with her, remembering a time not so long ago when she had been his only boarder. "Where's Gunn tonight?"

Her sweet smile became a frown. "At the office," she said exasperatedly.

"Again?"

"Yeah... Lorne too."

Angel's frown mirrored hers. "They're both spending a lot of time there," he muttered. When she said nothing, he glanced at her, and her slightly accusatory expression surprised him. "Fred -- "

" _What?!_ " Dawn's furious shriek from inside the hotel made them both turn their heads.

"What's goin' on?" Fred whispered.

"I don't know. Come on."

They came to the door to find that the training had finished. The girls had apparently gone to shower, and Spike and Wesley were nowhere to be seen, but Buffy and Dawn were facing off in the middle of the empty lobby.

If he hadn't been so concerned, Angel might have found the sight amusing. Both were standing straight as arrows, arms crossed over their chests, mouths pressed into thin lines.

"Dawn -- "

"No, Buffy. How could you even think about it?"

"What's going on?" Angel said, not sure if it was his place but wanting to stop whatever was happening before it led to bloodshed. Dawn whirled on him.

"Did you know about this?"

"Did I know about what?"

"She's leaving! She's just gonna... take off!"

Angel turned to Fred, who was gaping at the three of them. "Fred..."

"Yeah? Oh!" She blushed. "I'm just gonna... I think I'll go upstairs, now," she murmured, hurrying up the stairs.

"You _did_ know!"

"I did. Your sister came to me a few days ago to ask me if I would mind keeping an eye on you while she does some traveling."

"You're just gonna leave me. Like everyone else did!"

"Dawn, it's not like I'm leaving you by the side of the road. You need to go to school, and you can stay here with Angel and Spike -- "

"What if I don't want to stay with them?" Dawn argued, and Angel tried not to be hurt by her words.

"Then I will have Angel use his evil lawyers to track down Dad, and you can live with him."

"Buffy!"

"Dawn!"

"I need you, Buffy!"

"You kicked me out! You threw me out of our mother's house. Do you even _remember_ that?"

Dawn drew back as if her sister had slapped her. "That's why you're leaving? To get back at me for that? I was scared, Buffy."

Buffy sighed. "I'm not leaving to get back at you, Dawnie. I have been so many things for so many people for _so_ long. The Slayer, the leader, the best friend, the strong one, the sister, the mom... I need to find out who I am. I've never let myself think about it because the Slayer never rests, you know? But I'm not _the_ Slayer anymore, I'm just _a_ Slayer. I need some time."

"I don't want you to go."

"I know. But I'm not leaving forever. I don't know how long I'll be gone, but I'll be back for visits, and we'll go somewhere this summer, okay? Just the two of us."

Dawn stared at her for a minute longer before finally nodding, angrily wiping her tears away in a gesture that reminded Angel eerily of Buffy. He wondered just how much of Dawn had actually been taken from Buffy. Buffy drew Dawn into a hug, and Angel was just turning to head upstairs to give them a moment when Buffy reached back and caught his arm.

"Now," she said, stepping back from her sister, "Are you planning on staying in a spacious suite here at the AI School for Girls, or do you want Angel to see if he can find Dad somehow?"

Dawn's mouth pressed into a thin line. "Dad's useless, isn't he?" she asked, and Buffy nodded grimly.

"Pretty much."

Angel's heart ached for them; he could _not_ understand how Hank Summers could leave his bright, beautiful girls to fend for themselves. In Angel's opinion, the man was _worse_ than useless, and he briefly entertained the thought of having Wolfram and Hart track him down for less than noble purposes. Dawn turned to him with a heartbreakingly hopeful look on her face.

"I'd love to have you here, Dawnie. And there's a good school not too far from here that all of you girls can enroll in." He knew because he'd checked out all of the schools in the area within days of bringing Connor home to the Hyperion.

She rolled her eyes at the mention of school, but she was smiling, and then it disappeared. "What about the fighting?"

"Hmm?"

"You said that everyone who stays here has to be useful... I can't fight. Well, I can, but I'm no Slayer."

"Neither is Fred. Besides, I hear you've inherited Willow's Research Girl mantle."

Dawn brightened. "Oh, yeah! Books I can do. Pretty soon I'll have my Junior Watcher merit badge. How much you wanna bet it's done in a tasteful tweed?"

The phone rang as Buffy laughed. Angel went to answer it, and the girls watched him, growing alarmed as the easy expression on his face vanished. He reached for a notepad and pen, becoming grimmer and grimmer as the call went on, and he nodded tersely as he hung up.

"What's up?"

"Where's Wes? Did he leave?"

"No, he was going to, but I think he and Spike are upstairs talking about something."

Angel stuck two fingers in his mouth and let out a piercing whistle. Doors slammed and voices murmured as people started converging on the lobby. Some of the girls were buttoning shirts or toweling their hair dry.

"Angel, what's going on?" Buffy said urgently.

As soon as he saw everyone was there, he started talking. "Nest of Spezalk demons. They've holed up down near USC. The young ones are almost old enough to hunt; if we don't get over there soon, they'll be snacking on the students."

Wes and Fred were staring at Angel. Wes said, "Angel, how... Cordelia hasn't -- "

"No. Wolfram and Hart seers. We've gotta get over there. Me, Buffy, Wes... and I'll need about three of you girls... who's up for a fight?"

Several of the girls looked scared but Rona stepped forward. "Hell, yeah."

Casey, Sandra, and Dina moved towards him as well, and he nodded as he headed for the weapons cabinet. "Good, okay, arm yourselves, hand axes and short swords are best; beheading is what kills these things. Fred, if the seers call back, call Buffy's cell phone."

"Got it."

"What about me?"

"Don't think so, Dawnie," Buffy said firmly. "If we don't even need all the Slayers, you're definitely not going."

"What about me?"

Angel stopped and turned around. "Spike -- "

"I can fight. Probably better than Watcher boy there."

Angel laughed. "Spike, you're a little out of the loop. Wes could kick your ass blindfolded and with one hand behind his back. Fine, come on, grab a weapon, and don't get yourself killed." He glanced at the group, doing a quick count. "Wes, we're not all gonna fit in my car."

Wesley pulled his keys out of his pocket, showing them to Angel. "I'll take half, you take half, and we'll have a mobile debriefing. Spezalk demons, you said?"

"Yep," he confirmed, heading for the garage, with the others trailing behind him. "We'll be back as soon as we're done," he called over his shoulder. "Spike, Rona, and Casey with Wes, I'll take Buffy, Dina, and Sandy. I'll take point since I've got the directions."

"Ooh," Dina said, as they got closer to Angel's car. "Can I drive? I've got my license!"

Angel stopped completely and turned to look at her. "No. Absolutely not. Not my car. And did I mention never?"

"Meanie," she sulked.

"Be nice to the Angelmobile," Buffy grinned. "He's been known to get fangy if it's treated badly."

Angel glared at her. "Get in."

They roared out of the garage with Wes' SUV close behind them. On the short drive to the nest, Angel gave them a quick overview of Spezalk demons, outlining their weaknesses, which weren't many.

"The nest consists of one large female, several smaller males, and all of their offspring. They'll all fight viciously -- they bite and have huge claws, but if we can take out the female first, the others will be disoriented."

The Slayers were listening intently, Buffy nodding occasionally, the others watching him with wide eyes.

"They'll go for your head; they eat brains. You can chop off arms and legs, and stabbing them will put them down for a little while, but the only way to make sure they're dead is to take off the head. Okay?"

"'Kay."

"Got it."

"Yeah."

Angel swerved into an empty parking lot, killed the ignition, and doused the headlights. Wes followed suit. The group reconvened between the two vehicles.

"Buffy and I will go for the female, you girls go for the males -- there will probably be four or five of them. And Spike and Wes, you go after the young ones. Remember, you have to behead -- "

"Yeah, yeah, we heard all this already. Let's just go kick some arse, right?"

"No. Let's not. This isn't a brawl, Spike. If we mess this up, people die. Us, and maybe lots of innocent people as well. If you want to be a part of this team, you're gonna learn to follow a plan. Got it?"

"I know how to follow a plan, wanker. You're the one who taught me. Or don't you remember, oh Sire of mine."

Angel was already worked up, anticipating the coming battle, and Spike's attitude was the last straw. He shifted, showing his true face and growling low in his throat, and Buffy put a hand on his arm, murmuring his name to try and calm him down. He glared at Spike for a moment longer before turning and striding toward the building. "Let's go."

They moved swiftly forward, the others falling into step behind him while Buffy strode out a pace and a half in front of him. There was only one entrance to the nest, so stealth was impossible. Buffy kicked the half-open door and barreled inside, followed quickly by the others, and the air was immediately filled with inhuman screeching.

"Whoa! Attack of the Radioactive Killer Ants!" one of the younger Slayers muttered, and Buffy couldn't help but nod in agreement.

Even in the darkness of the Spezalk nest, the resemblance was unmistakable. The demons were insectoid, with oily black exoskeletons and segmented bodies. Though they walked on two legs, they had four other legs -- or arms -- waving in front of them; each arm ended in a wickedly clawed hand. Their mandibles extended from their jaws, each half clacking noisily and threateningly against the other.

In her peripheral vision, Buffy could see the others fan out behind her. There was a group of small demons, each about two feet high, on her left, and they were making the most noise. Wes immediately moved toward them, with Spike right behind him. Another group of demons rushed Buffy and her friends; these were bigger, about five feet tall, and the sounds they made resembled growls more than screeches. The younger Slayers swept into action, and the sound of weapons clashing against thick exoskeletons added to the cacophony in the building.

There was a weird moaning sound, and suddenly Mama Bug unfolded herself at the back of the nest. Buffy froze for a second; the thing was over ten feet tall, and nearly as wide across the chest as Angel's car.

She felt Angel move up beside her, and she pressed forward, casually decapitating a male demon that hissed and lunged at her.

"How am I supposed to reach its neck?" she shouted to Angel over the din. "Stand on your shoulders?"

"We'll do it together," he replied, just before he was yanked back so forcefully that he nearly lost his balance.

He tried to spin around, but something was clinging to him. One of the males had a clawed hand hooked into the leather of his coat, and Angel felt a burning pain as the demon sank its claws into his back and attempted to climb him to get to his head.

He hacked awkwardly at the thing, trying to get it to loosen its grip, but he couldn't get the right angle. It hissed in his ear and he ducked his head, feeling the powerful jaws clash against each other right over him.

Ichor splattered against his cheek, and he flinched as the demon's head came tumbling down over his shoulder. He was almost pulled to the ground once more as the weight of the corpse was pulled off him, and he looked into Casey's grim, bloodied face.

"Thanks."

"No prob. You better get over there."

He glanced up to see Buffy take a fierce swing at the female demon's thick leg. It screeched and stumbled but recovered quickly.

Angel prepared to vault over the fighting in front of him to get to Buffy, but four of the males rushed him, two from each side. He fought them with a growing sense of desperation. There were more of the males than he'd anticipated; this was a much bigger nest than usual.

He dispatched a couple of his attackers just in time to see the female Spezalk knock Buffy to her knees with one swipe of her powerful leg before closing one huge hand over Buffy's head, palming the Slayer like a basketball. He screamed her name, battling ferociously to get to her. To his amazement, the female Spezalk didn't pop Buffy's head like a grape, instead lifting her into the air, as if to take a closer look at the nuisance that plagued her.

The demon began to shake Buffy like a rag doll, and blood trickled down the Slayer's face from where the massive claws sliced into her skin. Angel roared her name again, and this time, he heard it repeated, as if there was an echo in the building.

Spike and Angel got there at the same time. Spike plunged his axe into the vulnerable flesh beneath the demon's arm just as Angel sank his short sword into the soft tissue between the segments of its exoskeleton, and it howled and dropped its prey. Buffy lay dazed on the ground as Spike and Angel slashed at the demon. It hooked its claws deeply into Spike's shoulder and he screamed hoarsely. With a half turn, the thing flung him against the wall of the building. There was the crack of breaking bone, and Spike slid to the ground and stayed there, motionless.

The demon's movement, though it had rid her of one of her foes, had dug Angel's sword deeper into the flesh of her body. He gave the hilt a vicious twist and the demon screamed, doubling over in agony and presenting its head at the perfect height to be removed. He jerked the sword free and swung it through the thick muscle of her neck. It went halfway through before meeting Buffy's sword in the middle with a vicious clang.

The demon's head toppled to the ground, followed by the heavy thud of the rest of the body, and Angel took a moment to calm down. His game face slid away as he looked over Buffy. She was bleeding and trembling, but none of her wounds looked life threatening. She stared back at him, and then her eyes widened as she saw the huddled form against the far wall.

"Spike!"

"Buffy, we have to take the rest of the demons out first," Angel told her, though he knew it wouldn't take long. With the death of the female, the other demons were pretty much standing still, waiting to be slaughtered. She nodded and took a shaky step, and he reached out to steady her. "On second thought, you go check him out. We'll get the rest."

She headed unsteadily toward his still body as Angel rejoined the fray. In moments, the last of the headless bodies fell to the ground, and they all made their way over to where Buffy crouched beside Spike.

She'd peeled back his duster to reveal the claw wounds in his shoulder, which were freely oozing blood. His left arm lay at an unnatural angle, obviously broken in several places. The most worrying thing was that he hadn't awakened. He was breathing, but barely, and Angel could tell that his pulse was sluggish.

"He needs an ambulance," Buffy said, reaching for her cell phone, hoping it hadn't been demolished in the battle. Angel laid a hand on her arm, stopping her as he pulled out his own phone.

"No."

"Angel!" she exclaimed, shock and anger beginning to color her voice.

"An ambulance would lead to a hospital visit, and that would lead to questions that we have no good answers for."

"So what do you suggest we do, just let him die because we don't want to deal with uncomfortable questions?!"

He ignored her outburst, rapidly dialing a number before lifting the phone to his ear. "This is Angel," he said shortly. He quickly gave their location and directions, before snapping, "I need an emergency medical team in an unmarked ambulance, and I need a cleanup crew. A _discreet_ one, but one that can deal with a hell of a mess. And I need both teams now. Understood?"

The person on the other end of the line must have agreed, because he nodded and snapped the phone shut, finally glancing at Buffy. "Wolfram and Hart's medical department will take care of him, and he'll probably get better care than he would at any of LA's hospitals."

She stared contritely at him, chewing her bottom lip. "Angel..."

He shook his head sharply, and she shut her mouth. He turned from the group and headed for the entrance. "I'll wait for the teams outside," he called over his shoulder.

Angel stood outside the door and watched the moon and the lights of the traffic on the nearby street. In a very short time, a couple of dark vans and a plain white ambulance pulled up in front of him, and he was pleased that his orders had been followed. He wasn't by any means comfortable using the law firm's resources, but they did come in handy sometimes.

Buffy came out, followed by the rest of the group, who all made their way over to the vehicles in order to give her and Angel some privacy.

"I'm sorry."

"I wouldn't just let him die, Buffy. I won't."

"I know you wouldn't. I was just..."

"Worried."

She nodded, and Angel sighed. "You should go with them. Get yourself checked out," he said, delicately running a fingertip along her the deep cut on her cheek, which had bled profusely but was already beginning to heal. She frowned at him.

"You should probably come along," she said, fingering the unevenly clawed holes in the thick leather hem of his coat.

"Nah, I'm fine. Besides... if I went with you, I'd have to let one of the girls drive my car."

She grinned, though he could tell it made her cheeks ache. "Can't have that."

"Nope."

"We're all kinda banged up."

"The rest of us'll be okay. Nothing that can't be fixed with the first aid kits back at the hotel."

Buffy watched as the medical team wheeled Spike out on a stretcher, and Angel nudged her toward the ambulance with an elbow. "Go. Give us a call, let us know how he is, okay?"

She smiled at him gratefully, and he turned and headed for his car to lead the rest of his weary group back to the Hyperion.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Angel was toweling his hair dry in his suite the next evening, glad that his wounds from the night before had almost completely healed, when Dawn bounced in, banging the door against the wall.

"Don't you knock?" he asked, grateful he'd already pulled on sweatpants. He grabbed the shirt that lay on his bed, tugging it on quickly. "I could have been naked."

"Why do you think I didn't knock?" she shot back, grinning at him. He stared at her in shock, and she rolled her eyes. Suddenly, her grin disappeared and she was scowling at him as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"What?" he asked warily.

"My sister's getting ready to take off, and I want to know how you're gonna take care of her."

He said nothing, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

"She's getting ready to go out into the big, bad world. What are you doing about it?"

"Maybe I should warn the world?"

"Angel! I'm serious!"

"What makes you think she's leaving, Dawnie?"

"She's packing."

He stared at her. "She isn't with Spike?"

"If she was in Spike's room, would I have said she's packing?"

"She's really planning on going still?"

"Duh."

He ran his fingers through his hair. "I should go talk to her."

Dawn grinned wickedly again. "If you hurry, you might be able to get a glimpse of her underwear before she packs them all away." Then she was gone, banging the door shut behind her. Angel shook his head at her antics as he grabbed something from a dresser drawer and followed her out, making his way down the hallway. He hesitated before knocking on Buffy's door.

"Come in!" she called, and he did. She was frowning at a pile of clothes on the bed, and Angel tried not to look too closely at them, remembering what Dawn had said. He was rather glad his sweatpants were loose.

"Going somewhere?"

She finally looked up at him, shrugging. "Spike's gonna be okay, and it looks like you have everything under control around here, so I figured, why wait?" He nodded, keeping quiet, and she frowned at him. "You look surprised."

"A little. I thought..."

She studied him. "You thought I was going to stay with Spike now that he's hurt," she guessed, and when he didn't answer, she sighed and shut the door. "Sit down, Angel."

He did, in an armchair by the bed, and she hopped up on the bed across from him.

"I don't love Spike. You asked me before, and I couldn't answer, but I can now. I don't. I never have, and I never will."

Angel said nothing, but he closed his eyes and swallowed. His eyes snapped open at her next words.

"I told him that I did. When he... when he was dying, but he knew I was lying, to him and to myself, and he told me so, and now I know that he was right. I was just scared for him, I think. I... don't know what I feel for him. I care for him, somehow. He... he was there for me when no one else was, when I needed someone. I mean, sure, now I know that he was there in a way that wasn't _at all_ healthy, but -- "

"Buffy -- "

"I know you don't want to hear this, Angel, but I need to tell you. Okay?" she said softly. His jaw muscle twitched, and she saw how tightly he was gripping the arms of the chair. "I'm not proud of how I acted after they brought me back, but I can't change it now. But I can move on, and that's what I want to do. So, I'm moving. On. And I can't do that by staying here."

She looked deep into his eyes, trying to read them, and she felt a smile tugging at her lips.

"What?"

"You know, I don't think I ever got the phrase 'soulful eyes' until I met you," she said. He looked away, embarrassed, and she reached out and traced a pale cheekbone with her fingertip, drawing his gaze back to hers. "You were right, you know. You and Spike both."

"About what?" he asked suspiciously.

"You're nothing alike. Not even when you were both souled vamps. You and Angelus... you're nothing like Spike and... well, Spike."

Angel stared at her, his suspicions growing. "Buffy," he said tentatively. "You... you said that you've never loved him and you never could. Why? What happened?"

She shook her head. "A lot of stuff you _really_ wouldn't want to hear about, Angel. Trust me. Besides, it doesn't matter now."

"If he hurt you..." he growled, and she placed a finger on his lips.

"Angel, he was a soulless demon. He's not now. That doesn't make it all disappear, but he's not the same man. Can you trust me on this?"

"I trust you, Buffy. I always have." _It's him I don't trust as far as he can throw me._

"And I've always trusted you." She grinned sheepishly. "Even if I might have said something else at one time."

The corner of his mouth quirked upward and his eyes thanked her for righting a well remembered -- if long past -- wrong. She took a deep breath, which turned into a sigh as she caught sight of the mess on her bed.

"How did I get so much crap in two weeks?"

"I can show you the credit card statements if you want a reminder."

Her cheeks flushed. "Angel -- "

"Relax, Buffy. I'm kidding. You increased my team's numbers and strength by about 900%. I think you were entitled to a little shopping spree. Especially since the Hellmouth ate your wardrobe. Besides, you couldn't come anywhere near -- " He stopped, and his light tone disappeared. "Anywhere near Cordy's record," he finished dully. There was a strained silence.

"How is she?"

He shrugged. "No change."

"I'm sorry, Angel."

"Thank you. Well, I'll leave you to pack," he said, pulling himself out of the armchair. "Oh!" he exclaimed, remembering what he'd brought her from his room. "Speaking of credit cards," he said, handing it to her. She stared at it.

"A corporate card? Angel..."

"Take it. How else were you planning on paying for your little road trip?"

She shrugged, wide-eyed. "Slayer for hire?"

"Dawn asked me how I planned on taking care of you -- "

"That little brat -- "

"This way, I'll at least know you aren't broke and stuck somewhere."

"You're planning on going over the statements with a fine-tooth comb, aren't you?" she accused, and he couldn't hold her gaze. "Sneak. I'll try not to buy anything _too_ embarrassing."

"You buy whatever you need. I mean it. If you don't want me to -- "

"Thank you, Angel. I won't make you promise to stay away from the bills... not that it will make you worry any less if you _do_ read them. I know you."

"You're welcome. Go, see the world, find out who _this_ is," he said, tapping the front of the card, which proclaimed _Buffy A. Summers_.

He backed away from her before he gave in to his need to pull her into his arms and beg her to stay. At the door, he turned. "You will tell me before you leave?"

She nodded. "I'll say good-bye before I go, I promise."

Angel shook his head. "No good-byes," he argued, slipping out of her room before she could answer.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Buffy left the next morning. She said good-bye to Spike separately, as he was still laid up in his room. Then, she came downstairs and hugged Wes, Fred, Lorne, Gunn, and all the Slayers. She gave Angel a light kiss and made him promise to take care of her sister, and then she gave Dawn a teary hug and promised she would be back soon. Then, with a vow that she would keep in contact, she was gone.

The first postcard came a week later, from San Francisco. After that, the postcards, letters, phone calls, emails, and packages arrived with regularity. She would have laughed at the way Angel demanded copies of her credit card statements from the Wolfram and Hart accountants, but she wouldn't have been surprised.

Buffy went everywhere. London, Singapore, Texas, Argentina, Egypt, Jamaica, Ireland -- Angel got a postcard and a letter from Galway, which affected him in ways he couldn't begin to understand. She never stayed very long in one place, but she sent pictures and posters and postcards from everywhere she went, until the Hyperion's lobby began to look like it belonged in a travel agency.

Things in LA moved into somewhat of a groove. The new AI team melded well, becoming nearly a family, and Angel found himself feeling very brotherly toward all the girls, which surprised him -- and them. He and Spike avoided each other most of the time, unless there was a battle to be fought, and then even Angel had to admit that Spike made himself useful, often _too_ useful for his own good. The discomfort with which Angel accepted his responsibilities at Wolfram and Hart began to fade as the other shoe stubbornly refused to drop, and while he never grew complacent, he was again able to fall asleep without wondering for hours when everything was going to fly apart.

Four years or so went by in this manner, and Buffy passed in and out of the hotel, staying occasionally -- always for Dawn's birthday and other important occasions, but never for longer than a week.

It was early dusk on an evening in June when Angel looked up from cleaning his broadsword. Spike was seated opposite him, oiling a crossbow as best as he could with a plaster cast on his arm, and the girls were stretched out all over the lobby, finishing up homework that most of them would soon be free of for the summer if not forever.

Spike noticed Angel's wandering attention. "Something wrong?"

Angel hid his grin. "Nah. Nothing wrong. Just..." _Just feeling something... someone_. He shrugged and turned his attention back to the sword he was polishing.

Twenty minutes later, the front door burst open, bringing cries of alarm from Spike and Fred and the Slayers, who all jumped to their feet. Wes came out of the office in a run, crossbow in hand. Angel sat silently.

"Hell of a way to treat a weary traveler," came her perky voice, and Angel couldn't help but smile.

"Buffy!" Dawn ran towards her sister, looking much younger than the young woman she'd become.

"Did you think I'd miss your graduation?" Buffy grinned as she crushed her sister in a hug.

"I wasn't sure..."

"Not a chance, kid."

"'Kay... need to breathe."

Buffy stepped back. "Sorry." She looked at Angel. "Everything okay? You checked it out? Nothing weird's going on? No giant snakes waiting for a close up?"

The corner of Angel's lip quirked upwards. "It isn't Sunnydale High, Buffy."

"Neither was Hemery."

"Good point. And yes, I checked it out. Graduation is safe, and set to happen without an Ascension."

Spike stepped closer, and Buffy glanced at him. "What'd you do to your arm?" She bit her lip before she could add the 'This time?' she was thinking.

He scowled. "Erstach demon. Threw me into a wall last week."

Buffy winced. "Ouch."

He shrugged. "Yeah. Killed it, though."

"What's in the bag, Buffy?" Dawn was eyeing her sister's heavy looking bag and bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet.

"Dirty clothes. Want it?" She offered the bag to Dawn, who wrinkled her nose and stepped away. "Presents. What else?"

They gathered around the table, and Angel sat quietly and watched while she handed out her gifts to everyone, having forgotten no one, though he chuckled often at the strange and yet perfectly appropriate gifts she found for each of them. She gave him nothing throughout the whole long process, didn't even look at him. Finally, she reached into her purse and pulled out something small and wrapped in a napkin.

"This is for you," she said to him, and he was the only one present who could hear the trembling of her voice.

He unwrapped it carefully, grinning when the scent hit him before he was finished. He looked up at her, one eyebrow raised.

"A chocolate-chip cookie."

"Yep. Fully baked, and full of cookie goodness... if you're the kinda guy who's into cookie goodness."

Their eyes met, and the nervousness in hers was instantly dispelled by the certainty in his. He set the cookie carefully on the table and took her hands in his.

"We need to talk," she said before he could say anything, and he nodded and stood up, leading her up the stairs towards his suite without another word.

Behind them, Rona asked Dawn, "Did she just give the vampire a cookie, or was I seeing things?"

Inside his suite, Angel led her to a chair and then sat on the end of his bed. They stared at each other for a few moments.

"So..." he said finally.

"So."

"Are... are you planning on... how long are you planning on staying this time?" His voice was neutral, and slightly unsure. Buffy looked right at him.

"I'm done tiptoeing around, Angel. I'm here, and I'm planning on staying here, with you, if that's what you want."

"Of course that's what I want, Buffy, but it's not that simple. There's still the curse."

She rolled her eyes. "All this time, with the resources of Wolfram and Hart behind you, and you haven't solved that yet?"

"It's not like we haven't tried, Buffy. This wasn't a blessing, it was a curse, and it wasn't meant to be taken off."

"Off is easy, Angel," she said with a grin, "We can take it off right now, if you want."

"Behave," he said with an answering smile.

"It's the what-comes-later part that's not so great."

"One way of putting it. It wasn't meant to be modified or changed. The clause was put there for a reason, even if only the Powers That Be and the Kalderash know what that reason was, and we can't just take it out."

"I know, I know. But it doesn't matter anyway. I'm not a teenager anymore, Angel, who doesn't know what she's giving up. Sex is good, I'll admit it, but it's not everything. I have a hand, and so do you."

He looked slightly scandalized, and she laughed, but when he made no move closer to her, she sighed. Getting up from the chair, she went over to the bed and pushed him back until he was leaning against the headboard. She climbed up beside him, wrapping his arm around her and snuggling into his side.

"I'm going to tell you a story," she said, "And you might not like it, but you need to hear it so that you know I'm not being Impulse Girl. No," she said, seeing that he was about to protest, "It's not about Spike. Okay?"

He said nothing, simply nodding.

"I've been in New York for the last month or so, just kinda cruising around. Checking out the shopping and -- don't laugh -- the museums and the galleries."

Her head was leaning against his shoulder and she was looking down at their intertwined hands, so he risked a smile.

"I said don't laugh."

"I'm not!" he said, smothering his grin.

She glared up at him. "You'd be surprised at what I know about art, mister! My mother owned a gallery, remember?"

"I remember."

"And," she said with a smile, "The man I love is an artist."

"I'm not an artist." _Or a man_.

"Bullshit, Angel."

"I draw because I need to sometimes, Buffy. If I didn't, I'd go crazy."

"I think that's the definition of an artist."

He rolled his eyes. "You were saying..."

"So I'm in this gallery a few weeks ago, and this painting caught my eye, so I was looking at it. It was abstract, all kinds of colors all whirled together -- the kind of thing I normally hate, but there was something about this painting."

Buffy glanced at him, and he nodded, showing he was listening. She fought to keep her concentration on the story she was telling instead of his fingertips, which were stroking her arm. She knew he didn't have any clue that he was doing that, and that made it even harder to ignore.

"Then, all of a sudden, there was this guy next to me," she continued, and his fingertips stilled on her arm. "He kinda glanced at me, and he asked me if I liked the painting, and when I said yeah, he started... analyzing it. For benefit of little old me, I guess. He tried to sound confident about what he was saying, but I could see him out of the corner of my eye -- I was still looking at the painting -- and he kept glancing at me... to see if I believed him."

She shrugged. "I thought it was kinda cute. So when he introduced himself -- his name was Chris -- and asked me if I'd like to go to dinner, I said yes. We spent some time together. Went to more galleries and museums, and he analyzed more paintings for me." She took a deep breath; this part was going to be as hard for her to tell him as it would be for him to hear. "I went to bed with him."

Angel had gone incredibly still and tense beside her. It was like leaning on a statue.

"Is there a reason you're telling me this, Buffy?" he finally managed to choke out. _Besides the fun of watching me fall apart?_

"Yes, Angel, I promise, there's a point. I'm not telling you to hurt you. In fact, look, we're at the point. I woke up in his bed, and all I could think of was you. It was... a way of testing myself, I guess, and it wasn't fair to Chris... but I needed to know. When I woke up, I was remembering all the things he'd told me, and then I remembered all the times I sat, curled up in your arms as you told me about the paintings you'd seen and the books you'd read. You didn't tell me to impress me; you told me because you loved me and you loved them and you wanted to share it all with me, you wanted me to love them too."

He didn't answer, and Buffy could tell he was hurting, and she began to wonder if maybe this had been such a good idea after all. But she'd started, so she might as well finish. "The sex... it was okay... in fact, it was pretty good, but that's not the point. I needed it so that I knew that it wasn't what I wanted. I don't want to wake up in some other guy's bed, Angel. If all I can do is give you a kiss every night, that's what I want. And when I realized that, I knew it was time to come home."

She cupped his cheek in her hand. "I'm sorry if that hurt you, and maybe I shouldn't have told you, but it was the only way I could think of to show you that I'm serious about staying here with you and that I didn't just decide out of the blue to come back here."

Angel was quiet for a long time as he wrestled with his thoughts, but she could feel him gradually relax next to her.

"I'm glad you're back," he finally said. "That you came... home to me."

"Not too glad, I hope," she said with a grin, and he smiled weakly at her.

"No, definitely not too glad."

"Good." Buffy snuggled into his side, happy when his arm tightened around her. She felt his lips skate across her hair, and then he dipped his head even farther, brushing a kiss along her cheek. She sighed at the cool, soft touch, turning so that his mouth captured hers.

She was soft and warm, and Angel groaned as she nipped at him, pulling his full bottom lip between her teeth. He lapped at her, tasting her, and she parted her lips to let him in. Never one to hesitate upon being offered an invitation, he took her mouth possessively, wanting to claim her, to make her his again, to erase every memory of the other men who had touched her.

His cool tongue plunged into the warmth of her mouth, playing and tangling and mating with hers, and she arched into him. She'd forgotten how it felt to kiss him, to be held and wanted and loved by him, but now, in this moment, everything was coming back to her, and she wanted this, wanted him, wanted it all.

Angel grunted in surprise as she suddenly straddled him without breaking the kiss, her hot little body nestled against him, her hands tangled in his hair. He slid his hands under her, cupping her, pressing her even more closely against him, and then reality crashed back into him and he pulled away, doing everything he could to ignore the ache that her whimper of protest caused.

"Buffy... wait... Buffy!" he groaned, lifting her off his lap and settling her on the bed beside him. "We have to stop. We're moving very fast into 'way too glad to see you' territory."

"Angel..."

"Buffy, listen to me. This is how it's going to be, if you stay. This is how it has to be. God knows I wish that weren't the truth, but this is reality. In fact, that was a little farther than we can let it go."

She pouted, and he closed his eyes against the sight of her. "Well, that killed the mood."

"Good. It needed to be killed."

Buffy sighed. "I understand. Don't like it..."

He raised an eyebrow. "And you think I do?"

"Oh, I think it's pretty obvious you don't either," she said, with a pointed glance at his body. He shifted and stood up, holding out a hand to her.

"Come on, let's go get your bag, and I'll walk you to your room. The room you were using before is still empty, if you want that one, or there's -- "

"My room?" she asked, gazing longingly at his bed. He stopped and took her hands in his.

"Buffy, we can't. It's too dangerous. I'm sorry, I wish we could, I wish more than anything, but..."

She looked away. "This is going to be hard, isn't it? Even harder than it was senior year."

"Yes," he said quietly, "It is. Buffy... maybe we're being unrealistic -- "

"No," she said firmly. "We'll make this work, Angel. You're right... separate rooms sucks, but it's a good idea, and... we'll have smoochies, I know we can. We'll... stick to public places. Okay, maybe not public places, but places where it'd be bad to get too into it, you know? The office... or the garden... and we'll stay out of each other's rooms."

"Buffy..."

"No. I'm a Slayer, dammit. I don't back down from a challenge. Especially when it's you I'd be backing away from. Again. And tomorrow, I'm calling Willow. We're _going_ to get rid of that damn clause, Angel."

He smiled at her. "I love you."

She blinked away tears, astonished that his simple words had moved her so much. "I love you too," she whispered, stepping into his embrace. She felt the tension growing again, and she pulled away, keeping hold of his hand. "Come on, let's go get my bag."

They descended the stairs to find the Slayers and Dawn talking in a quiet huddle. Fred and Wes had disappeared, and Spike was nowhere to be seen.

"Buffy?" Dawn asked worriedly.

"Everything's fine, Dawnie. More than fine. I'm staying here."

Dawn glanced at her hand, intertwined with Angel's, and raised an eyebrow, but she said nothing. Buffy grabbed her bag.

"Where's Spike?" she asked. Sandy jerked her head towards the door to the garden. Outside, a small coal orange glow betrayed Spike's presence.

"He's still smoking?" Buffy asked with a sigh, and Angel shrugged.

"It's a hard habit to give up. Especially when you've had it as long as he has."

"Yeah. Couldn't kill him before, though."

"Come on, I'll walk you to your room," Angel said, emphasizing the last part for the others' benefit. "When he comes in, I'll tell him to go up and say good night."

"Thanks."

"Where's Wes?" Angel asked. Maybe he could use another reminder to search for ways to get around the clause in Angel's curse. _Although the weekly reminder might be enough_ , he thought.

"He and Fred went out to get some food. They're bringing something back, I guess."

"Good." He placed his hand on the small of Buffy's back, guiding her toward the stairs. "I'll be back down in a little while."

"Good night," Buffy said, and the others murmured responses to her, but before they could go too far, Casey called out.

"Angel!"

He turned, and she walked up to stand right in front of him.

"I don't want to have to stake you," she said, and though her voice was hard, her eyes were worried. At one time, Angel might have been offended or angered by her words, but now he just smiled confidently.

"You won't," he answered, praying that he wasn't lying to her.

Buffy waited until they were upstairs and walking down the corridor, way out of earshot of the Slayers, before she said, "Angel..."

"Yeah?"

"Why is Spike always so beat up?"

He glanced at her. "It isn't me, if that's what you're implying." When she shook her head, he held his hands open in a gesture of puzzlement. "He fights hard, and dirty, and he's not as strong as he used to be."

"Yeah, but Wes is human. Fred is human. They fight, and they don't get hurt like that. I know Dawn fights more than I'd like her to," she added, with a glare at him, "But she doesn't get hurt like that. She better not."

Angel shrugged. "He takes chances he shouldn't take, goes up against things he shouldn't be going up against. He refuses to ask for help. He thinks he has to prove himself somehow. Maybe you can talk some sense into him, but I doubt it... in fact, he might try harder now. Hard enough to get himself dead."

She grimaced. "Well there's a fun thought. I'll talk to him."

They reached her room and he opened the door, gesturing her in but not following her.

"It's clean," she said, surprised, and Angel smiled.

"Should be. The girls take turns cleaning the rooms every couple of weeks."

"They have chores? Besides fighting evil baddies and doing their homework?"

When he nodded, she shook her head. "You're no fun as a parent."

He didn't smile. "They need some kind of structure."

She cupped his cheek, and he turned to press a kiss into the palm of her hand. "I'm teasing you, Angel," she said softly. "You've done so well. With all of them. With Dawn. A hell of a lot better than I could have. And a million times better than Dad. Thank you."

He rested his forehead against hers. "You're welcome. Good night, beloved."

She gave him a soft kiss and watched longingly as he moved off down the hallway.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Buffy fit well into the team -- and the family, though there were some growing pains. She'd been slaying on her own for so long, and she and Angel often went nose to nose in the beginning over the way to deal with a demon or a threat. The slammed doors and harsh words were vastly outnumbered by the compromises and kisses, and soon, they were a hell of a team.

Very shortly, though, Buffy found herself getting antsy, and she enrolled at UCLA. She told everyone she'd done it just to annoy Dawn, who'd been accepted to USC. Several of the other Slayers enrolled in various colleges and universities; freed of the burden of being the only Chosen One, they had the opportunity to live a life much closer to "normal" than Buffy had ever been able to.

Most of them stayed close by, though Rona went off to NYU; she sent them letters that were half social calendar, half Slayer journal. All of the girls in LA reciprocated, and it became a competition to see who could have the best date followed by the best slaying, something that Angel frowned upon and Buffy just rolled her eyes at.

No matter what Willow and the coven tried, and no matter how hard the Wolfram and Hart teams searched, a way to make Angel's happiness clause disappear remained elusive. The couple spent as much time as they could with each other, usually in a group, for safety's sake. The girls -- and on one memorable occasion, Giles, back for a visit -- caught them several times in the office and garden and various other semi-public places around the hotel.

Buffy and Angel tried to be good, and at first, it was considered almost a game, but when Wes barged into the training room and found them with various pieces of clothing scattered on the ground around them, they all began to take it very seriously. After that, the couple was only allowed ten minutes or so alone together before someone would knock loudly on the door, wait a moment, and enter to break it up.

It was difficult for them, but they managed as best they could, staying as happy as they could -- _safely happy_ , as Angel often told Buffy. He tried his best to keep a smug expression off his face around Spike, but he couldn't help himself sometimes. Despite what he had thought all those years ago when Spike had first shanshued, the former vampire didn't have everything Angel had dreamed of.

And Spike knew it. Despite -- or maybe because of -- the lectures Buffy seemed to constantly be giving him, he continued to throw himself into bigger and more dangerous fights. Several months after Buffy's return, Angel looked up from the text he was studying as he heard voices. The hotel was empty, since it was midday; he was used to being alone when the sun was out. He came out of his office just in time to see Dina lead a hobbling Spike in through the main doors. Both were bloody, bruised, and battered.

He came forward quickly. "What happened?"

Spike glanced up at him. "Think I broke m'ankle."

"Again?"

Spike rolled his eyes and then grimaced as the action pulled on his thrashed, swollen face.

"Looks like you broke your face, too."

"He went into the nest alone," Dina said angrily, and Spike scowled at her.

"Snitch."

"What the hell were you thinking?" Angel asked him, and he stood up straighter. Or at least he tried to.

"That I could hold my own, dammit!" he practically snarled, his anger fading into a harsh coughing fit.

"Spike -- "

"I know, I know. Bloody stupid of me."

"Spike, you're a more than capable fighter, you know you are. You can kick ass with the best of us. But you aren't invincible. You're going to get yourself killed."

"Yeah, that idea takes some getting used to."

"Spike, you've had years now to get used to the idea. You don't have to prove anything to any of us." He knelt down to look at Spike's foot. "Damn. Dina, can you get me a knife? We're gonna have to cut this off."

"Sod that! You're not cuttin' my boot."

"Spike -- "

He dropped onto the couch. "Just pull it off quickly."

"It's swollen, Spike, and if it's broken -- "

"Dammit, Angel!"

"Fine." He grabbed the boot and wrenched it off in one quick movement. Spike gave a hoarse cry of pain and pitched forward, nearly falling off the couch. Angel caught him and lowered his unconscious body back onto the sofa. Dina began to swab the blood off his face. "When he wakes up, tell him to let me cut it off next time," Angel bit out, dropping the boot on the ground as he headed back into his office.

With a sigh, Angel picked up the phone, punching the buttons forcefully.

"Wolfram and Hart."

"It's Angel. I'm at the Hyperion. Need a med team."

The receptionist managed to stifle most of her groan, but Angel heard it. "Mr. Spike again?"

Angel grinned, despite the situation. "Yes. And he would not be happy to be called that."

"I'll be sure to remember that, sir," the receptionist said, but her voice was too innocent, too neutral, and he wiped a hand over his mouth to keep in his chuckle.

"Be sure that you do, Tricia."

"The med team will be there shortly, sir."

"Thanks." Angel rolled his eyes at the way she addressed him, but no matter what he said or did, most of the Wolfram and Hart employees refused to call him by name. _And_ , he thought, _Sir is better than Mr. Angel_.

Returning to the lobby, he helped Dina get Spike out of his duster. Spike came back to consciousness right before the EMTs got there, just in time to be in a supremely bad mood for them.

Angel watched as they wrapped Spike's ankle -- which was badly sprained, not broken -- and bound his cracked ribs. When one of them left and returned shortly with a wheelchair to get him up to his room, Spike exploded.

"I don't need your bleedin' help to get up to my damn room!" He bared his teeth at them and a strangled sound came from his throat, which Angel realized was his attempt at a growl. It ended brokenly as he started coughing, tears streaming down his cheeks from the impact on his ribs. The EMTs must have realized that he'd tried to growl at them, because they glanced at each other, sharing a not-very-well hidden smirk. He shakily raised his hand, flipping his index and middle fingers at them. "Goddammit, just go away!"

The EMTs sobered and glanced at Angel, which only angered Spike more.

"And you don't need that wanker's permission to leave me alone! Sod off!"

"Spike," Angel said firmly, "It's not their fault you went out and got yourself hurt. Again. They're doing their job, and they don't need abuse from you." When Spike scowled at him, he added, "If you want to lay there on that couch until you rot, go ahead. Not gonna stop you."

Spike took a breath to answer him, but he grimaced and choked off any words, though he tried to hide it. Angel noticed his eyes were watering again. The vampire nodded toward one of the EMTs, who was holding a hypodermic needle and warily watching the action.

"You gonna let them give you that painkiller?"

All of the fight seemed to leave Spike suddenly, and he nodded. The EMTs finished their work, packed up and cleared out, leaving Spike on the sofa. He lay there staring at his wrapped, elevated leg, and Angel watched him for a while.

"I'm bein' stupid, aren't I?" Spike said, and his voice was slightly drowsy from the medication.

"The straight answer? Yeah, you're being an idiot. Nothing new there."

Spike shrugged, biting off a groan when the action jostled his injured ribs. "I don't understand it, mate."

Angel raised an eyebrow. Spike was either really out of it or feeling really low; he'd never open up to Angel otherwise. "Don't understand what, Spike?"

"This! Can't fight, can't see, can't hear, can't smell, I'm always tired, I'm sick all the time. I can't even work up enough of a growl to scare away a coupla poncy doctors! What the hell kinda life is this?"

Angel tried to ignore his anger -- and his jealousy. "It's _life_ , Spike. And you certainly don't do anything to make it easy for anyone, least of all yourself."

Spike just snorted, and Angel shook his head and turned to retreat into his office. Spike evidently _had_ forgotten how far vampiric hearing reached, because Angel wasn't _quite_ out of earshot when he heard Spike mutter, "It's a fucked up life, this is."

Angel closed the office door behind him and sat at his desk. He pulled a sketchpad out of a drawer but found himself staring blankly at it, lost in thought.

"I'm getting broody vibes."

Angel glanced up to see Buffy leaning on the doorjamb, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. She pushed away from the door and moved closer.

"And since the only other person currently around is out there -- " She hooked a thumb over her shoulder, "Snoring like a very big, very hurt, and probably very cranky baby, I'm guessing those vibes are coming from you."

"Just thinking."

"You don't say." She hopped up onto the corner of his desk. "'Bout what?"

He sighed. "I don't think Spike has adapted all that well to being human."

She stared at him incredulously, and then she burst out laughing. "Sorry," she apologized, covering her mouth when she saw the mildly indignant look on his face. "Sorry. But... Angel, _how_ is this a startling new revelation?"

He pulled her into his lap, and she snuggled against him. "It's not. But... I've been thinking... if it had been... if shanshu had been... mine, would I be the one out there on that couch? Always hurt and in a permanent bad mood?"

She gazed into his eyes, seeing the worry and the wondering there. "No, Angel, I don't think so. I thought we decided this a long, long time ago. You and Spike, you're different. I think you would have adjusted."

"I'm not so sure. Spike was a vamp for a hundred and twenty years. I've been one for more than twice that. I might have had an even harder time. It might have been impossible."

Angel allowed himself to think of the day that had been lost. It was a rare occurrence; he usually suppressed those memories fiercely. He had been so reckless that day, wanting to protect his beloved, nearly getting himself killed. If the Oracles hadn't done as he'd asked, would he have continued on like that? Gotten himself -- and maybe Buffy and his friends -- killed?

He was brought out of his musing by her hand stroking through his hair. He could see sadness in her eyes, and he tried to smile. He leaned his head against hers.

"Maybe... maybe it's better this way. For me, if not for Spike," he said, struggling through the words. "Maybe it wasn't such a great gift after all."

Buffy kissed him. It was a soft kiss, a kiss of comfort, not of passion. He took strength from her warmth, and her love.

"I know how hard it was for you to admit that," she murmured against his lips.

Angel sighed. "Now if I could only convince Spike somehow to make the best of what he's been given."

"We do everything we can, every day, to convince him. It's up to him." She slid off his lap. "And speaking of doing our part... the seers called my cell phone. There's a mated pair of Leknarf demons down in San Pedro that need to be taken care of."

His eyes widened. "Why didn't you say something earlier?"

Buffy shrugged. "You weren't in a 'let's kick ass' mood. Besides, once the sun goes down, they go into some funky hibernation mode. Should be an easy kill. I was gonna do it solo, but I thought you might frown at me. You wanna?"

"Let's go."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Buffy had been right. It was an easy kill. They crept into the Leknarf lair down by the ocean to find the feline-like demons curled around each other in the dim light like a pair of housecats.

"They're kinda cute," Buffy whispered.

"Yeah. Too bad they eat toddlers."

"Toddlers? Not babies? Or pre-schoolers? Strictly a taste for the terrible twos?"

"They like their prey to run a little. Not too much, though, and not too fast."

He lifted a small blue baseball cap with the tip of his sword, and the fascinated look on Buffy's face melted into grim disgust. She strode forward, raising her own sword.

With one swing, she chopped one of the demons into two pieces, and the corpse erupted into a very large puddle of peach colored glop. She backpedaled to avoid the mess just as the demon's mate awoke with a scream that sounded entirely too human for Buffy's comfort.

It launched itself at them, still screaming, but Angel swung his sword around in a wide arc, cleaving the beast in half. The demon's momentum carried its remains forward, showering both of them.

"Ew."

"Forgot that part," Angel said flatly. "Come on, we're done here. Let's go grab a shower... um, showers."

They made their way back to the car, evading the attention of the Port Authority officers that were searching the shipyards for the source of the screaming. Angel was quiet on the drive back to the hotel, and Buffy glanced at him often, but his eyes were glued to the road. When he parked the car and got out, seemingly still in a daze, she grew even more worried. She slipped her sticky hand in his, relieved when he gave it a squeeze and glanced at her.

They paused in the lobby. Spike was still sprawled on the couch, snoring lightly. Sandy sat across from him, flipping through an issue of Cosmo. She glanced up as they came in. "Hey. Busy night?"

"Quick kill. Where is everyone?"

"Friday night. They're all out. I figured someone should stay here with Sleeping Beauty, though."

"Thanks, Sandy. Hope you didn't have a date."

She shrugged, grinning. "No big -- Robby flaked on me last time. He can deal this time. Although..." She glanced at her watch. "If I leave now, we can still make the movie."

"Go," Angel said. "Have fun. I'll get him upstairs."

Sandy dashed off, and Angel bent to pick Spike up. He caught sight of the mess on his clothes. "Guess I should shower first, huh?" he said. "He wouldn't appreciate being covered with this crap."

"Probably not," Buffy said with a grin. "Even if it means he doesn't have to hobble upstairs."

"Be right back. Can you watch him for a moment?"

She grabbed his arm. "Angel, are you okay? You seemed a little out of it in the car."

He kissed the tip of her nose. "I'm fine. Maybe coming to some conclusions."

She raised an eyebrow and her grip tightened on his arm. "That sounds scary, and I'm not about to let you say that and wander away. Spill."

He nodded toward the couch, and she said, "Angel, we're gonna get demon glop all over it."

"And that's never happened before," he deadpanned, and she gave him a little shove and then sat down. He sat next to her, pulling her into his side.

"This stuff is going to glue us together."

"I don't have a problem with that."

"Me either, now that you mention it. Now, tell me what's going on in that head of yours."

He sighed. "Buffy, why did you kill those demons?"

She stared at him as if she suspected he might have just misplaced his last remaining marble.

"They weren't attacking you. Why attack them?" he asked.

She shook her head, completely confused. "They're demons. They eat kids. Isn't that enough of a reason? Angel..."

"Okay, but why you?"

"I'm a Slayer."

"There's hundreds of Slayers these days, Buffy; why you?"

"I thought _you_ were coming to the conclusions. What's with the twenty questions?"

"I'm trying to work through it all."

She looked uncomfortable. "It's... what I'm made for. It's what I do."

"Okay," he said, nodding. "So why do I do it?"

Buffy was floored. She opened and closed her mouth a few times. "You tell me," she finally said.

"That's what I'm trying to figure out. I used to think it was a way to get redemption, but that's impossible."

Now she was on familiar ground. "It's not -- " she started, but he put a fingertip on her lips.

"Not impossible as in I could never achieve it because I'm so evil. Impossible because... because it wasn't me. _I_ can't atone for what Angelus did. I can regret it, and I do, but I may as well try and atone for what Spike did. Or for what that vamp you dusted last Tuesday did. Can't be done. Not by me." He saw her incredulous expression and he smiled. "That particular conclusion came a while ago, I think. This is just the first time I've said it."

He glanced at Spike. "For a while, I thought that I was working toward a reward, but we know that's a bunch of crap. No reward for me, and I was disappointed, until I realized earlier today... maybe it's not such a reward. So... why?"

Buffy was frowning. "Because... because it needs to be done."

Angel smiled. "I think that's it. I do it because I can, and because it needs to be done. Who I am... what I am... I could use that to destroy good, or I can use it to fight evil. So... I'm here to fight on the side of the Powers, because evil needs to be fought. It's not _why_ I fight that matters, it's that I fight at all."

She stared into his eyes. There was a certain peace in his eyes, and she was glad to see it, but it frightened her very much. "Angel... you... you seem content with that decision," she observed worriedly. He knew what she was concerned about, and he shook his head.

"I'm not. It doesn't make me happy, Buffy, and I know that's what you're worried about. I'm... resigned. I think I know... no, I _know_ why I'm here." He sat up and gripped her hands between his, and his eyes lit up. "I know _why_ I'm here. How many people can say that?"

She shook her head, giving him a smile. "Not many. Come on, let's go get cleaned up, and then we'll get Spike upstairs."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Angel!" Buffy called. When he looked up, she tossed him a dagger. One of the little blue demons punched him in the stomach, and he missed the catch. Whirling, he kicked out, knocking the demon to the floor. Buffy finished off the last of her attackers, sprinting to help Casey with hers. She drew one of the demons away from the pack and killed it, and then repeated the ploy. Soon, Angel was the only one left fighting. He wasn't in trouble, so they just watched him in action.

He was moving almost too fast for the eye to follow, doling out punches and kicks with lightning speed. He fought with a purpose Buffy hadn't seen in him for years, probably since before her seventeenth birthday, and certainly not since the Hellmouth had been sealed. He wasn't enjoying it, necessarily... _Well_ , she thought when she saw him grin fleetingly, fangs gleaming, as he flung one of the demons away from him, _Maybe he is enjoying it. Hopefully not too much._

The last of the demons fell, and they all climbed into the car as Angel pulled out his cell phone and made the call for a cleanup crew.

"Remember when we had to do the burial detail ourselves?" Buffy asked.

He smiled. "Long time ago."

"Good fight. You looked like you were having fun."

His smile disappeared. "I... I was. Not too much, I don't think."

Buffy grew annoyed. _He shouldn't have to worry, not about this_ , she thought. "If the Powers are stupid enough to let you lose your soul fighting their fight... then... we'll deal. We all know the spell, and we have a stockpile of orbs. We'll take good care of your soul even if they can't bother to. It's good to see you this way."

Angel shrugged. "It's good to feel this way. Haven't in a long time," he said, but she could tell he was worried now. She sighed.

"Hey," she murmured, stroking his arm. "It's why you're here, remember? Things'll work out. Besides... if this turns out to be perfect happiness for you, I might be insulted."

He risked taking his eyes off the road to give her a reassuring smile. "Not in a million years, beloved."

"So don't worry."

"I'll try not to."

They got back to the hotel to find Spike in the garden, leaning back with his wrapped ankle up on the stone bench. He wasn't smoking; he was just sitting there, peering into the night, waiting for them. He jumped when they all materialized silently out of the darkness.

"Spike?" Buffy asked. "What's up?"

He jerked his head toward the building. "Got a visitor, Angel. Thought I'd better wait out here."

The hotel lobby was fairly dark, but there was a strange blue glow emanating from the windows.

"What the hell?" Angel rushed forward, calling over his shoulder, "Stay here!"

"Hell, no!" Buffy caught up with him, sliding her dagger out of the sheath in the small of her back.

"Fine," he growled. "The rest of you stay here."

They burst into the lobby to find a familiar figure lounging on the reception desk.

"Nice digs, Angel man."

Angel's jaw dropped, and he sank down onto the couch, pulling Buffy with him. "Doyle?"

"In the flesh. Well, in the weird, glowy, energy stuff, anyway."

"What are you doing here?" Angel asked dazedly. "You... you're dead and you're _still_ working for the Powers?" His own realizations about his duties were starting not to look so good. He knew his purpose in life -- unlife, but did this mean it would extend beyond his final death?

Doyle shrugged. "They needed messengers. I agreed, but only if I only had to give good news. Let the living ones do the bad news." His face fell. "You would have got this news via your own personal seer, but..."

"Cordy," Angel murmured, and Doyle nodded.

"Yeah. So they sent me."

"So this is good then," Buffy blurted out, finally regaining her ability to speak.

"That depends on our man Angel here."

"I don't understand."

"This... insight you came to... it's been coming for a long time. The Powers, you know they've always had their eye on you. You're a dangerous weapon, Angel, and they need you. And they appreciate you fighting for them. But you needed to know why you were fighting. You needed to understand. Understand?"

"I think so... so you came to see me to tell me I was right?"

Buffy noticed the curious faces at the door. "Guys... I have no clue what the hell is going on here, but if we don't open that door soon, we're gonna have a bunch of anxious Slayers in here, and that's generally not a good thing."

Doyle chuckled. "Lass is right. Shall we go into your office while she lets them in?"

Angel looked nervous. "I... I want her there."

Doyle looked her up and down. "Got no problem with that," he said appreciatively. When Angel growled, Doyle held up his hands in surrender. "Hey, can't blame a man for noticing a pretty girl. Go let them in, Slayer girl, and then come on into the office, right?"

"You call me Slayer girl again, we're gonna find out just how hittable that weird, glowy, energy stuff is," she muttered as she headed for the door.

Angel and Doyle went into the office -- Angel noticed Doyle was walking just like normal, though he was still bluish and glowy. He stood just inside the door, watching as Doyle inspected the surroundings.

"It's nicer than the old place, isn't it, now?" he said, and Angel shifted, losing his patience.

"Why are you here, Doyle?" he asked harshly, just as Buffy slipped into the door and reached for his hand. He squeezed her hand, drawing strength from her.

"Well, now, that's up to you."

"You already said that!" he growled, and Buffy squeezed his hand again, murmuring his name. He took a deep breath, centering himself. "Sorry."

"You're an unselfish warrior for the Powers, Angel. You aren't working towards redemption or a reward, or anything like that, and they've seen that. Now that you aren't looking for one, I'm here to give you a gift."

There was silence in the office as they both stared at him, and he laughed.

"Well, it was worth the trip just to see the faces on ya."

"A gift?" Angel asked. "But... Spike..."

Doyle snorted. "No one ever said shanshu was a gift, Angel. Your English friend, he took that prophecy to mean it as a reward, but that's just interpretation. The prophecy's vague, as they always are. You both know that."

Buffy spoke up. "So, why Spike?"

Doyle glanced around, as if afraid of being overheard. "The Powers -- and there's a bunch of 'em -- they don't always agree. Some of them saw a champion in him, they knew the prophecy, and they interpreted it the same way you all did. He was given life. No one guaranteed it'd be a good one."

"But that's not fair to Spike!"

"Ah, but life isn't fair, now is it, lass?"

"I have _always_ hated that saying," Buffy growled, narrowing her eyes at him. He shrugged.

"Don't shoot the messenger." He paused and chuckled. "Don't slay the messenger." He stopped grinning at her and turned a serious gaze on Angel. "So, my friend, what'll it be?"

"What?"

"Your gift. I'm here in a kinda genie-like capacity. What is it you want?"

"I have a choice?" He stared at Doyle, and then at Buffy, and then he leaned weakly against the wall. "My soul," he said suddenly, the words tumbling from him as if of their own free will.

Doyle stared at him quizzically. "Beg pardon?"

"I want my soul."

"Angel, man, you have your soul."

"No. It isn't _mine_. I want it permanent, anchored, bound to this body," he demanded, and he noticed Buffy had stopped breathing beside him. She groped for his hand, and he clutched at her.

"That's it?"

Angel gaped at him. "What do you mean, 'that's it'?"

"Your soul," Doyle repeated. "That's all you want."

There was a prompting tone in his voice, and Angel stared at him. He became aware of Buffy's hand in his, small, warm, damp with sweat from worrying with him, about him. He turned to look at her fully.

She gazed up at him, love in her eyes, and a little bit of fear, and happiness. Happiness for him. He thought of her on the day she'd been called and on the day that was lost, the way she'd looked, beautiful and glowing in the sunlight. He thought of the fear he'd had when Spike had first shanshued, fear that she would go to Spike and leave him, Angel, alone in the dark.

His soul wasn't all he wanted. He wanted to hold her in the sunlight, he wanted to grow old with her, and he wanted a family with her. He wanted to see her with his children and he wanted to eat ice cream with her on the beach.

Angel thought of Spike, thought of the fights, and the injuries, and the weaknesses. He thought of not being able to hear Buffy's heartbeat, not being able to pick her scent out of a crowd. He imagined lying injured somewhere while she fought for her life, for their lives. He'd had a chance at humanity once, and he'd given it up. For a good reason, one that still existed.

If the price of not being able to share the sunlight with her was still having the ability to keep her safe, to fight beside her, well, then, it was a good trade-off. Especially if Doyle gave him his soul, gave him the gift of making love to her.

"Angel," she murmured, "What do you want?"

 _You!_ his mind screamed, his heart pleaded, his soul howled. _I want you._

"Is your soul all you want?" Doyle asked him.

"No," he said honestly. "But it's enough. More than enough."

"Angel," Doyle said firmly, "You remember what I said about shanshu. No one ever said it was a gift. _This_ is a gift. I can give you what you've asked for. Or I can give you what you want."

He leaned forward and pressed his hand against Angel's chest. Angel jerked and groaned, trembling. There was a tightness in his chest, a growing lightness in his head. He fell to his knees, barely hearing Buffy cry his name, and he took a deep, gasping, shuddering breath. And then another.

"What?" he managed to choke out.

"Listen, Angel," Doyle told him. "Listen to _everything_."

Angel breathed, trying to focus, trying to listen. He heard... his heartbeat. But he heard an echo of it in his beloved's chest, he heard her breathing, he heard the blood rushing in her veins. And he breathed in her scent, and it was spiked with fear, and he could tell. He could _still_ tell. He concentrated, trying to make the shift that had been effortless for over two and a half centuries, and he found he couldn't. The anger and bloodlust that had simmered just below the surface for so long -- the signs of the demon -- were simply gone. He stared at the shade of his dead friend, in awe.

"A gift," Doyle said. "Your senses, stamina, strength, and healing -- all of it is there. The rest of you? Human as I am... uh, your girl -- her sister? Spike," he finally finished. "Human as Spike."

"Thank you," Angel said, pulling himself to his feet. "That... it isn't enough to say."

"It's more than enough. Your purpose, Angel? What got you all of this? It hasn't changed. Do you get that?"

"I'm still fighting for the Powers," Angel said, and Doyle nodded.

"You are, and it's a good fight. Only now, you got something to look forward to at the end of the day."

He caught his friend up in an embrace, and Angel was surprised by how solid Doyle was. The messenger slapped him on the back and stepped away.

"Take care, my friend. Of you, and of her. I'll see you again. Not too soon, though, I hope."

There was a bright white glow, and Angel and Buffy shielded their eyes against it. When it faded, they were alone in the office. They stared at each other, both frozen in shock.

"Ang -- " Buffy began, but his lips cut off the rest. He crushed her to him, kissing her forcefully, and she moaned as he nipped and nibbled and lapped at her. She parted her lips to let him in, and then she was lost. He was solid, he was _warm_ , she felt his heart beating rapidly against her chest, and she began to cry. He jerked back from her.

"Don't cry, beloved. Please, don't cry," he whispered, and she laughed and ran her fingers along his cheek, where his own tears glistened.

"How -- " Her voice was rough, and she cleared her throat. "How do you feel?"

He gazed at her, and he laughed. "I feel hungry."

Buffy was disappointed, but she tried to hide it. "Oh. Hungry."

"Yeah," he mused. "Definitely hungry. In fact..."

He grabbed her and swung her up into his arms, kicking open the office door. She shrieked as he dashed across the lobby for the stairs, racing toward his suite. He growled in her ear, making her shiver.

"I could really go for some cookies."


End file.
